House? Holmes? Who?
by Kaosinorder
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has fallen ill with a mystery disease, and there is only one person who can save him. Disclaimer- I do not own the rights to Sherlock Holmes though technically in public domain, House M.D, or Doctor Who. Though I wish I did.  Word of Note- This story will not be worked on until I've finished my other Doctor Who & House crossover, and for very good reason


**House? Holmes? Who?**

**The violin's gentle and soothing music drifted from the first floor window out into the street. It was a slow and measured tune, but had undercurrents of sorrow. The violinist sat draped across an old, brown leather armchair, which was well worn from his semi-frequent bouts of melancholia, in which he would deposit himself upon the seat. His violin and bow, though in perfect working condition, showed years of play upon them, with the violin's elegant ebony body being scuffed in places.**

**His black suit jacket was strewn over the back of the other chair, lying where he had thrown it when he entered the room, despite the coat rack present near the door. His shoes were shined to a pristine condition, though the soles were well worn, as was an area of floor boards near the window from where he regularly paced, deep in thought, and occasionally with pipe in hand.**

**He finished the song and laid the violin back in its case, but left it open, and turned to stare at the photograph that stood upon the mantelpiece and only deepened his depression when in this mood. As he stood and moved towards the photograph his knees became weak, and his breath short; his body failed him and he collapsed to the floor, where upon parts of his life flashed before his eyes; the woman in the photograph; a waterfall; a gigantic hound; all appeared to him. There was a gentle rapping upon the door and a voice saying **

"**Sir, are you alright?" and upon receiving no response the owner of the voice opened the door and not seeing him entered the room further. She was an elderly woman, with a face that was both kind and serious, and hair that was tied tightly into a bun. She had seemed to age a great deal since she had become his housekeeper. She drew farther into the room until he was visible to her, and seeing him thus, she screamed.**

**Hearing the scream of the housekeeper the other resident of the place dashed up the stairs, and made his way to the parlour. Seeing his friend collapsed upon the floor, and being a man of medicine, he knelt beside the man and placed his middle and ring finger against the neck. Upon feeling the weak pulse he began to feel some relief but also greater trepidation. He attempted to put those feelings aside as he began to rack his mind in order to come up with something that might explain the events. He quickly ruled out things like gunshot wound or the like, but he could not find any solution. It was then that he remembered something his friend had said to him.**

'**Should you ever find me in a trouble that you cannot solve, and it seems life-threatening , I require you to remove the device from my left waistcoat pocket and use it.' It occurred to him that this was an occasion of just such circumstances, and if the device could help at all then it was worth it. He reached into the pocket and withdrew something that was strikingly similar to a pocket-watch, but upon the front was an engraving saying 'Open and push'. As he did the former he say more engravings on the inside, but this time of a type he had never seen before, surrounded a small, dark red button. He depressed the button and saw the engravings change before his very eyes to say 'wait by the door', but deciding to stay with his friend he turned to the housekeeper and said,**

"**Mrs Hudson, go to the door. I am hoping there will soon be someone who can help arriving." No sooner had the elderly woman get to the door than there was a horrendous, screeching sound, which struck to the very core of a person, coming from the street. Immediately after this there came an urgent knocking upon the door of the house. Mrs Hudson opened the door, but was almost forced back as a man bolted up the stairs, followed by a young red headed woman, and a young man, the latter of whom was carrying a leather bag similar to that which the doctor upstairs used when visiting patients.**

**She went to shut the door, but paused as something seemed to catch her eye, something that seemed out of place but that couldn't be pinpointed. Shaking this feeling she closed the door, and went to do that which calmed her most, make tea.**

**Outside, the door stood resolute, a darker black than the surrounding night. The only bit of light of it was being reflected from the streetlamp onto the silver plaque adorning the door. Though the plaque was simple in its design, it drew the eye because of its contrast to the door that it sat upon, and engraved onto the plaque was what drew the eye more.**

'**S. G. Holmes'  
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